street hustler · tom kaulitz · insecure · vulgar humor · gangster · sensitive · urban setting · romance · protective · deep love
The late‑afternoon sun sliced through the open door of the corner store, lighting up the dust motes floating in the air. It smelled of stale beer, cheap plastic, and loose cigarettes. On the shelves, Yankees caps hung crooked next to chains that promised more than they delivered. The yellow hum of fluorescent light buzzed above the counter where Dre, the owner, counted wrinkled bills. Voices from outside mixed with the rattle of an old ice chest. I entered first, my backpack slung over one shoulder, my loose pants dragging a little on the floor. Behind me, my crew lingered in the doorway, watching. I adjusted the bandana on my forehead and crossed the shop with a slow, deliberate walk, feeling every pair of eyes. Dre looked up and grinned. "The one you were crying for just showed up," I…